Broken Trust
by rJak
Summary: A dramatization of Barret's last encounter with Dyne


Broken Trust  
  
It seems so peaceful there six feet into the earth. You don't have to worry about pain, you don't have to worry about sorrow. You only have peace, sweet peace that covers you like a shroud. Your soul was gone to the other side but your body rests, free from all of the world's injustice and sorrow. In times like this, he envied the dead. They never had to worry about the future. They only had to answer for the past.  
And what did he have to answer to? The two people he ever cared for were lying there in front of him, in those makeshift graves he made for them four years ago. Two crosses, one large and one small, crudely stuck into the ground by the cliff's edge marked the final resting-place. Why did they have to die? Eleanor and the baby never had to die. They were supposed to survive HIM. They were supposed to live together, living a happy life. But that was never meant to be.   
He forced himself to move a little way back from the cliff. He could feel the breeze now. Cold. Colder than his heart had become. But he didn't shiver. He stood there, blond hair twitching in the wind. He looked around. There was the debris of old coal tools and buckets, gear he had been taught to use when he was a boy. Now it was worthless. Nobody wanted coal nowadays. They wanted the power the reactors of Shinra would provide, the clean burning, fuel-efficient...  
  
Efficient.  
  
Yes, they were efficient. Shinra placed the reactor in the town. Everybody approved of it except for him. Didn't he warn them? Didn't he say the coal had protected them for generations? Didn't he say they had no right to throw away a thing that their fathers had risked their lives to get? But they didn't listen. Couldn't they see what would happen? No one foresaw the accident. And no one foresaw that Shinra would turn on the townspeople.  
  
Why? Why did this have to happen to them? They were offered a future people only see in fairy tales. Instead, they were supplied with the gift of fire, hot lead, and the stench of death. Dyne lost everything. His house, his friends, his wife, his child, everything. On that day the town died he died too. But by the fate of some cruel god he was left still living, with nothing but his body and a gun grafted to what used to be his left arm. What was he now?  
  
There was a voice. That is simple. You are Dyne. Is that not enough?  
  
"No," he said. "No, it's not enough."   
  
Then what is?  
  
"Why am I left living and all the others dead?"  
  
You are alive for a reason. For vengeance.  
  
Dyne shook his head, letting the coarse hair settle slowly across his forehead. The voice again. Maybe it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. He gained that voice four years ago, after he found Eleanor in the burnt shell of his house. He never found Marlene, the baby. Maybe she was disintegrated in the blast or charred beyond recognition, discarded as refuse in the street. The only thing he could find was the doll. Now, that rested beneath the ground, the only living testament to his daughter. But that voice kept him calm, told him what to do. He had no idea what it was, but it relieved the pain.  
  
Look down, Dyne. The voice continued. Look down at the arm.  
  
He obeyed, and looked at the skeletal frame that cradled the gun covering the stump of his left arm. It was part of him now, like his own flesh.  
  
You see the arm? See how the metal is grafted into you? After you lost the use of your arm I told you to get this, didn't I?  
  
"Yes," Dyne answered. "Yes, I remember."  
  
Do you remember why? It was for revenge, Dyne. Revenge on those who killed your family. Revenge for North Corel. Revenge on those who seek your life.   
  
Revenge. The word poured over him, encasing him with cold fury. No one must be left unpunished. The guilty will be judged, and he was the executioner. He had killed many people in the name of vengeance, of North Corel.  
  
Is your revenge finished, Dyne?   
  
"No," Dyne responded. "There are many left."  
  
Say it to me again. Who are you?  
  
"You know who I am. I'm Dyne. Dyne the Avenger."  
  
The Avenger of what?  
  
"The avenger of North Corel."  
  
Prove it.  
  
Dyne raised the gun arm at a cart tottering near the edge of the gorge. A little concentration, and the gun fired, sending a projectile smashing through the wood and sending the metal frame spinning down into the abyss. He turned again. A bucket, rusted from disuse sat resting against a wooden post. Within a second a bullet tore through the metal, spinning it end upon end before it clanged down on the packed earth.  
  
That's not enough, Dyne.  
  
He looked around desperately. A signpost, a pickaxe, a lantern, another signpost, all of those fell in rapid succession to the weapon of vengeance. He was still not satisfied. Quickly, he saw another lantern. A quick motion and that was gone too. He now turned back to another wagon. Yes, the wagon made a fine target. He turned his gun and...  
  
He heard a shout. "Dyne!"  
  
He stopped. That wasn't Dyne's voice. It certainly wasn't the other voice. But there was something familiar.   
  
"Dyne, is that you?"  
  
He started wheezing. He KNEW that voice. He had heard it in his dreams, in every waking hour of his life. Slowly, he turned around. Behind him stood the black, stocky form of a man. The face was older, scarred with age and conflict. The stubble on that face didn't hide the scratches. Yes, he knew that voice and he knew that face.   
  
"Wallace," Dyne growled. "Barret Wallace." He stepped forward a bit, trying to hide his limp as well as possible. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in years..."   
  
And a voice you'll never forget, the voice answered.  
  
"A voice I'll never forget..." Dyne continued.   
  
"I always hoped I'd be able to see you again someday," Barret said. "I knew you were alive somewhere." He raised up his right arm, which now held the barrels of a machine gun. "We had the same operation."  
  
And what is that supposed to make you? Proud?  
  
"Listen to me Dyne. I want to..."  
  
Barret tried to walk towards him. With a quick gesture, Dyne fired at the ground in front of him. Startled, Barret jumped back, looking desperately into the eyes of the frightened animal he once considered a friend. After a while, Dyne blinked. In the recesses of his mind, he could hear crying. Eleanor was speaking to him, sobbing uncontrollably. He couldn't make out the words at first, but it became clearer. It was the cry of mercy.  
  
Mercy, the voice continued, is for the truly noble. But those that destroyed the town surely weren't noble. Why should you heed them? Especially for the one who betrayed you?   
  
Betrayed, yes. He remembered. Barret didn't want his wife to suffer anymore. She was dying of cancer, or at least she was before Shinra took care of her. She was sickly. Barret couldn't do anything for her except to come home from the mines and comfort her, waiting for that day that she would die. That's why Barret wanted the reactor. He wanted to be with Myrna until the end. If that meant losing his job, so be it.  
  
But why did he involve him? Dyne had a wife, a daughter, everything he had hoped and dreamed for. He sympathized with Barret and did everything he could to help out, but to what ends? He lost his job to the reactor. Then he lost his house and his family. Betrayed! He had tricked him into signing the death warrant of North Corel! Dyne could have shot him dead right there, if it wasn't for the crying, the pleading...  
  
"I hear her voice," he said finally, looking into the eyes of the betrayer. For a while, Barret looked at him, unable to speak.   
  
"It's Eleanor's voice," Dyne continued. "It's begging me... not to hate your rotten guts."  
  
Dyne stared at the packed earth beneath his feet, gray as the soul that rested inside him. The cries were fading now, and his mind cleared again, making way for the silence.  
  
It was a long time before Barret spoke again. "Dyne, I know I was stupid," he pleaded. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but..."  
  
Good, for we never will, the voice countered.   
  
"What're you doing in a place like this?" Barret screamed now. There was pain in his voice. "Why are you killing those that ain't even involved? Why?"   
  
Dyne looked up. There was a snarl and a flash of those bloodshot eyes as he lifted up his one good hand towards his friend. He balled it into a fist as he began talking again.  
  
"Why?" he answered in anger. "WHY? Why do you care?" The hand now pointed menacingly towards Barret as if it were a gun itself. "Are all those people killed at Corel going to understand WHY? Are they going to understand by hearing Shinra's excuses? I don't CARE what the reason is!"   
  
There was a moment of suffocating tension. The hand started to shiver in rage, then slowly came down to his side. "They took everything," he continued, quieter now. "There's nothing here but despair and emptiness. Do you know what that's like, Barret? Emptiness?"   
  
There was no response from Barret. How could there be? He had no idea how much Dyne had changed in four short years. Four years. Had it really been that short time ago? It seemed like only yesterday that the two were walking back from their trip and saw the town ablaze. From the cliff's edge, they could see the inferno raging unchecked, licking up the houses and buildings. The black smoke blocked the sky. Dyne couldn't bear to see it. The only things he remembered were the cries of his friend asking why. Why?  
  
Yet there was hope. "It's not over yet," he had told him. "They're all waiting for us. Everyone's waiting for us, Eleanor, Marlene... They all waiting." But by the time they got close, the soldiers saw them. They opened fire, and the two ducked for cover. They got into the mine cart in a futile attempt to escape, but the fire knocked Dyne out, almost sending him into the chasm below. Barret had grabbed his left arm. He was screaming for him to hold on. "Dyne! I ain't letting go! You're coming back to the village!" he was yelling. "Y'hear? You're coming back with me!"  
  
But did he hold on? The voiced demanded. Did he hold on to his dear friend?   
  
Dyne shook his head. No, Barret didn't hold on. The bullets hit the arm. It shattered Dyne's hand instantly, and he fell into the black abyss. But somehow he survived. Somehow he managed to climb back up, and limp back to the charred ruins of the town. Buildings had been reduced to charcoal, twisted metal littered the walks, the unrecognizable remains of people. And his house, amongst the runs, jutted out of the ground blackened with smoke. He rushed in.  
  
There, on the bed, rested Eleanor. Her dress was torn, and three bullet holes graced her stomach and chest. The only blood he saw on her was a trickle that had come down the side of her mouth. Her eyes were closed, and the hair tossed back against the poster board. She looked so peaceful. He held her close for a long time and cried. The body was cold, stiff, unfeeling.   
  
She's dead, Dyne. The voice spoke again. Nothing can bring her back. Isn't that reason enough for your hatred? Isn't that enough for you to take your revenge?  
  
Dyne looked at his friend again. There were no more tears now. He had no reason to cry anymore. The damage had been done. The last blow against his humanity was struck. His unfeeling eyes sought out his friend's face. He could see the shades of confusion and hurt coming over him.  
  
"You think I'm a madman," Dyne said finally, stepping back against the graves again. "You're right. I have no reason to keep sane now. Shinra was responsible for this, and so was the world for bringing me a lying, backstabbing friend like you!" He rose his gun arm, aiming straight at Barret's heart.  
  
Barret stepped back, shocked. "Dyne! What did I..."  
  
"Don't act like you didn't have anything to do with it!" Dyne growled. "You LIED to me, Barret! You said everything was going to be all right! You said we'd grow old together! You said the town would be prosperous!" He swung the gun around and pointed to the cliff. "Look around you! Do you call this prosperity? This is death, Barret! This is betrayal! Does that explain WHY now?"  
  
Dyne turned away and looked over the cliff. A short distance away rested the remains of North Corel. No smoke was there now. It housed only the corpses of the people expecting a better life. It seemed so distant and unfeeling. Once upon a time he was proud to call it his home. Now, it served as a testimony to broken promises.   
  
"There's nothing left," he murmured quietly. "I've got nothing left in this world. Corel is gone, Eleanor is dead, Marlene..."   
  
"Dyne..." Barret responded.  
  
Dyne looked over his shoulder at his friend.  
  
"Dyne, Marlene...Marlene's still alive."   
  
It seemed like hours before Dyne could comprehend what Barret was saying. His daughter? No, she was dead. She had a grave. The living don't have graves. How could she be alive?  
  
"Marlene?" he finally said. "You're lying. She's..."   
  
"I went back into town, Dyne," Barret interrupted. "I found my wife dead, too. My relatives, my ...my home, everything. I found Eleanor in the street. I carried her inside your house, but she was already dead." He started breathing slowly. "That's when I found her, Dyne. I found Marlene. She was in that crib, crying."   
  
Lies! The voice cried. Lies! He said that the plant would help the town, he said that everything was going to be all right! How do you know he isn't lying now, Dyne? Ask him that!  
  
"I got out as fast as I could, carrying her in my arms. I saved her, Dyne. She's alive."  
  
"Where is she then?" Dyne limped forward again. He stared into the eyes of the betrayer. "Where did you take her?"   
  
Barret stared back into the eyes of his friend, never flinching. "She's in Midgar," he said. "I'll take you to her. Let's go see her together, all right?" There was hope in Barret's eyes, but Dyne didn't receive them. He knew that Barret wasn't lying. How could he lie about a thing like that? But Marlene...  
  
It isn't the Marlene you know, Dyne, the voice reminded him.  
  
Dyne looked at the crude crosses in the ground, the resting-places for his wife and child.  
  
The Marlene you held in your arms rests in the cruel ground. She will never come back to you.  
  
He walked over to the grave of his wife. He knelt down, felt the whitewashed wood of the cruciform hanging over it. She was peaceful, but her daughter was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. He shut his eyes in thought. Was all that work burying his family for nothing? Nothing?  
  
Then, the eyes opened. "Barret, she's lonely."  
  
Barret tried to come forward, but Dyne quickly aimed the gun arm at him. Dyne got up slowly and eyed the victim.   
  
"Eleanor's alone," he hissed. "She's all by herself. I've got to take Marlene to her."   
  
"Dyne, are you insane?" Barret yelled. "You can't..."   
  
"Don't I have the right?" Dyne snorted. "Marlene wants to see her Mother, doesn't she?" He was laughing as he pulled the trigger.   
  
The bullets came at him, sending Barret diving to the ground. Dyne limped slowly, ready to fire another round. Maybe he could get a bullet into this prey. He deserved it. He fired again, but Barret blocked the next shot with his own gun arm.  
  
"Stop, Dyne!" Barret screamed. "Stop!"  
  
But Dyne didn't stop. He was laughing. The bullets came again, and Barret rolled away from the barrage as it strafed the ground. Yet he didn't fire. He wasn't fighting back. Even with the gun arm of his, Barret wasn't returning fire.  
  
Why isn't he firing? The voice said. He should have fired back by now. He should at least defend himself. The others at least defended themselves.  
  
He fired another round, then another. The bullets whizzed around Barret now, but none had hit him. Surely Dyne would have hit this big of a target by now. The fat man was dancing, and he wasn't defending himself. What was going on?  
  
"Dyne!" Barret screamed again. "Stop, Dyne! I can't die yet!"   
  
The shots stopped. Angrily, Dyne looked down at the figure pleading for mercy. Something about the words had touched his anger.   
  
"Dyne?" he screamed back. "Stop calling on Dyne! Dyne is dead! Don't you understand? The real Dyne died with his family four years ago!" The gun arm was up again, pointed directly at his friend's head. His eyes pulsed slowly, thirsty for blood.  
  
"Stop it!" Barret replied, putting up his hands. "I don't want to fight you!"  
  
If he won't defend himself, the voice said icily, then he will have to die.   
  
Dyne blinked. He was hesitating. His crazed eyes met Barret's frightened ones. There was no rage, no fear. Could he bear to end the life of his friend? He was shaking now. Rage was slowly giving way to fear and uncertainty. The heart started beating faster.  
  
NOW, Dyne! If you won't kill him, he'll kill you!  
  
His dry lips sputtered. "Raise your gun, Barret," he said. "Defend yourself. I can kill you right now, but you've got to defend yourself."  
  
"I can't fight you, Dyne," Barret replied softly, shaking his head. "I can't..."  
  
"DO IT!" Dyne screamed. The gun arm cocked. "I'll count to three. If you don't fire, I'll blow your head off." He gulped. "I'll do it, Barret. I've killed before."  
  
"Dyne, I..."  
  
"ONE!"  
  
Barret was silent. He finally saw he had no choice. He was forced now. There was no more pleas for mercy. He had to fight. That's exactly what Dyne wanted. It had to end here.  
  
"TWO!"  
  
"Dyne," Barret whispered, "forgive me." He readied his gun arm.  
  
"THREE!"  
  
Dyne pressed on the trigger, but he heard the loud report of Barret's chaingun ripping through the air. There was an unearthly scream so loud that Dyne had to cover his ears in order to drown it out. It was the death cry of the voice. Then, silence.   
  
He blinked. Barret stood there, the smoke from his own gun arm rising past his face. As he looked, he felt a cold pain inside him. His right hand reached for his chest. He felt warmth, stickiness. He looked down at the crimson stain rapidly growing on his tunic. He now looked at his bloody red hand.   
  
Dyne fell to his knees in shock. He knew the wound was mortal. There was no doubt. He could already feel the stiffness. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. Then, through the gray mist he saw Barret running toward him.   
  
"Back!" he screamed.   
  
Barret stopped. Dyne forced himself on his feet and staggered towards the cliff's edge, towards his family. He found a large piece of broken metal sticking out from the ground. As the wound began to hurt, he leaned himself against it. He felt his breath becoming shallower and sporadic.  
  
He saw everything cleared now. The voice had clouded his judgement for four years, and now he could see again. He remembered all of those innocent people who had to suffer. He thought that Shinra must suffer for their crime, but what about those civilians? What about those who weren't involved?  
  
"I don't know where I went wrong," he groaned, holding his chest. "What have I done?"   
  
Barret stepped forward, coming closer to the metal. "Dyne, come with me. We can't end it like this. Maybe we..."   
  
"No." Dyne shook his head sadly. "I told you...I... wanted to destroy this crazy world. The only thing...I was able to destroy was...me." He winced. Time was growing short. The pain was flooding his body.  
  
"What about Marlene?" Barret pleaded. "What's gonna happen to her?"   
  
Dyne turned. All the madness had died out, replaced by pain. "Think about it, Barret," he replied, groaning faintly. "How old...was Marlene back then? Three...four months? She...wouldn't know who I was." There were tears in his eyes as he looked into those hands that had done countless atrocities.   
  
"Even if I did go to her now...she wouldn't want to know me." He raised his bloody hand, silhouetted against the setting sun in the distance. "These hands are too bloodstained to carry her anymore..."   
  
He collapsed against the jut of metal. It was getting blurry, but he could see his friend beside him now. His hands felt at his neck and came to rest around the locket he carried with him. The blue stone within gleamed in the red light of the setting sun, and the small diamonds sparkled against the light. It was the locket Dyne had made for Eleanor on their anniversary. It was meant to be Marlene's wedding present. But now, it was no use to him. He unfastened the chain.   
  
"Give that pendant to Marlene," he whispered as he rested the locket in his friend's bloodied palm . "Eleanor...would have wanted that."   
  
The wind had become softer now, as the clouds moved slowly past the horizon. Rays of dying sunlight broke through, striking the gray ground and the two crude crosses. He could see the whiteness now. The last breath was coming upon him. And now, the sunset was visible, but there was no one there to enjoy it. He turned his head, looking at his friend for the last time.  
  
"Barret..."   
  
His friend looked down, staring into those grim eyes.  
  
"Don't... make...Don't ever make Marlene... cry..."   
  
His head rested softly against the jagged metal as the darkness came across him. For the first time in years, his soul was, finally, at peace.   
  
  
With his fingers, Barret shut the bloodshot eyes of his friend. Did a long friendship like this have to end in gunfire? He saw no other way to deal with it. But how could he go home? How could he bear to tell his adopted daughter that he killed her real father? There was no possible way. Another grave had to be dug, and another victim of North Corel had to be laid to rest. If Myrna were here to...  
  
He couldn't think about that. He was just as worse as Dyne had become. How many innocent people had he killed for North Corel? He couldn't remember. Dyne had an excuse. He had gone insane. But what about him? His hands shed the same amount of blood too. Wasn't he just as guilty?  
  
"Me and you were the same, Dyne," he whispered to the unfeeling corpse. "We were always the same. We lost everything and wanted revenge. We could have succeeded. We could have done it together..."  
  
He looked down at his hands. The gun and the other hand were now slicked with a crimson red. It was his blood this time. He sighed as he looked at the broken body of the friend he knew and trusted even in death.  
  
"My hands ain't any cleaner, Dyne," he confessed, tears dripping down the weary face. "I...I shouldn't be able to carry Marlene either."   
  
As the sun sunk under the horizon, Barret Wallace wept for the loss of the best friend he ever had.  
  



End file.
